


Tuesday Morning

by RossaCrispo



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: F/M, First Time, cliche pre-final-battle sex, deflowering adorable dingbatty med students, i like tags a lot, jude has big hands lol you know what that means, man-cherry-popping, milla pov, not a songfic, this totally happened in the game i'm convinced of this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 21:44:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13396848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RossaCrispo/pseuds/RossaCrispo
Summary: There's an entire night that follows in Trigleph after Gaius brings them the knife, and his challenge for a final showdown. And in the depths of that night, before the sun rises the following morn, Milla will have to try to come to terms with her future, what she feels for Jude, and what she knew, all along, would someday have to happen between them...





	Tuesday Morning

I remember stormy weather  
The way the sky looks when it's cold  
And you were with me  
Content with walking  
So unaware of the world

Please don't drive me home tonight  
'Cause I don’t wanna feel alone  
Please don't drive me home tonight  
'Cause I don't wanna go

Tuesday morning  
In the dark  
I was finding out  
Who you are

I took your picture  
While you were sleeping  
And then I paced around the room  
If I had known then  
That these things happen  
Would they have happened with you?

Please don't drive me home tonight  
'Cause I don’t wanna feel alone  
Please don't drive me home tonight  
'Cause I don't wanna go

Tuesday morning  
In the dark  
I was finding out  
Who I was

And if you turned around to see me and I was gone  
You should have looked outside your window  
'Cause the sun was coming up  
The sun was coming up

Please don't drive me home tonight  
'Cause I don’t wanna feel alone

Tuesday morning  
In the dark

We were finding out  
Who we are

Tuesday morning  
In the dark  
We were finding out  
Who we are

Who we are

_—Michelle Branch, “Tuesday Morning”_

 

* * *

 

The knife lays at their feet, cold and glistening, but their eyes are on each other. _Remind me of the path I must walk,_ he’d asked her, and _Watch over me when the time comes,_ she’d asked him in return. Fate has become a stream in their hands, running out between clasped fingers, dripping to the stones to sear away when the sun rises.

There is only now, only this time left before their ways must part.

And Milla had just insisted that human emotions no longer applied to her, yet she knows more than ever that if she lets herself, she could love him, love the sleek, dark young man whose fate had somehow become twined with her own in the days since they’d first tumbled into each other’s lives.

But tomorrow will change everything; tomorrow she must accept her role in the world, in their vision for the future. She must close her heart.

And yet… it is so hard to even _think_ that, let alone _do_ it, with the way he looks at her.

“Milla,” he says, speaking her name just to hear it shimmer in the coldness of the wind, a sound to break the silence.

The smile she gives him in return is sad, but resigned. She watches as Jude stoops down to pick up the knife. Milla can see a glimmer of the smooth, stark edges that can rend space-time itself. She remembers the surge of jealousy she felt at the attention Jude had once given to Muzét. The memory of it bemuses her now; why should she ever feel such envy? What does she, a spirit, have use for such an emotion?

But when Jude gets to his feet, smiling sadly at her, wrapping the blade of the knife in a kerchief he pulls from his pocket and stowing it safely, she can’t quite fight the idea away that, if Jude were to turn his affections on another, she would feel that hateful stab of envy again. Perhaps it would be felt against all odds. But the way they’d always understood each other, always fought side-by-side, been so attuned to the other… was that, too, against the odds?

Milla is restless, feeling a stirring in her lower belly that, while familiar, still manages to puzzle her. The brush of wings that sets her heart to hammering. The glimmering of warmth a bit further down that has, of late, threatened her whenever Jude would bore his eyes into hers.

She can’t stay still, but she can’t leave his side. This may very well be the last time they will be able to walk alone together, to talk and smile and laugh and wonder how to dispel the barrier of tension between them that has grown thicker and heavier with every day, every shared gaze, every moment they’ve stood so close she could feel the warmth of his strong, young body…

“Walk with me,” Milla suggests with a wave of her arm. And Jude does so, ascending at her side to the artificial park, a cold imitation of beauty in this world of cut stone and unyielding steel that will be their future. They say little, their words having run dry.

But the river of destiny that has washed them up together in its wake runs cold and clear. Together, they can place the tiny stone that can divert the entire course.

She can’t think of anyone else she’d rather have at her side to thwart fate. To create their own destiny from the ruins. _Together._

The air is chill, cold enough to make Milla’s blood run slower, and even as her skin prickles and her muscles quiver in reflex, she is secretly grateful, because such proximity to Jude has a tendency to bring a flush to her face and she can’t allow herself to feel these emotions. Not now. Not ever, perhaps. But especially not now, not with everything hinging on this next confrontation with Gaius and Muzét.

She stares out across the city, past it at the flashes of lightning over the barren plains. So much destruction, so much life dependent on ruin.

Jude murmurs, “It’s so strange to see lightning when it snows.”

“That it is,” Milla agrees. The soft flakes have slowed their descent, the ones that fall before melting as soon as they touch the stone.

“Milla—” Jude suddenly turns to her, his entire being alight with some emotion that Milla is afraid to recognize. He isn’t quite so close to her now; they couldn’t even touch hands if they both reached out at the same time. But she can still feel the energy radiating from him. So much strength and fire and determination for a boy…

She keeps her gaze forced out on the sparkling city lights. “What is it, Jude?”

“I know after this is over then… I can’t—we can’t…” She sees him shake his head out of the corner of her eye. “I know I probably shouldn’t, but I can’t keep pretending. I have to say it…”

“No, Jude,” Milla keeps her voice flat, but inside she is starting to shake. She knows what he wants to say. And she wants him to say it—only she doesn’t. But no, she _does_ …! Doesn’t she?

And the agonizing confusion he inspires in her is yet another thing that she’s becoming accustomed to.

“Milla…!” He pleads with her, only using her name, the marker of a sentient being. A name can be so binding.

“Don’t say anything,” Milla insists, turning slowly to him. And before she can stop herself, her next thought spills from her lips. “Just show it.”

Jude’s breath catches and his amber eyes go round. Milla is glad of the darkness and the cold that keeps the warmth at bay. Her own breathing is trying to go too fast; her lungs won’t obey her body’s command to draw air in slow and deep. And yes, even as a spirit, there is something human left in her. Something that responds only to him.

A part of Milla wants to call those last three words back, wants to turn away and write the whole thing off as a bad idea, an impulse born of the lingering threads of the humanity she’d held for the past twenty years. But a bigger part of her, a part she thought she’d put to rest when she died, is telling her that it’s too late, it’s been too late since the moment they met in Fennmont, that they’ve long been past the point of no return, and that even if they could turn back, would she really want to?

Jude takes a tentative step toward her, then another. And _damn_ it, Milla is nearly trembling with the anticipation of it all, and the sensations that she’s never felt this strongly before.

Desire. How much longer can she tell herself that the heat in her skin, the wings in her belly, the tingling in her spine, in the roots of her hair, crackling to the tips of her breasts and deep into the center of her hips is not desire? She knows better. She’s not been a stranger to the human act of sex, though her curious attempts at it had not helped her understand it in the least. Ivar had been too nervous, too unresponsive, too incompatible with her, and despite her grudging fondness for the obnoxious young man who is her handmaid, she’d long feared she felt little—if any—of the attraction that humans had for one another when it came to mating. There were things that might stir her body, words or ideas or thoughts, but for all her curiosity she had felt she was missing something vital. Something with another person.

In truth, before she met Jude, she had even considered disregarding herself as unable to feel them; though she might occupy the body of a human female, there would be some things beyond her understanding. And, try as she might to comprehend it, this would be one of them.

But then Jude had wakened all these emotions in her. And she had died, and the bright overlay of attraction with them. Or so she’d thought.

But now, as he moves toward her, shy and tentative, it comes surging painfully back. There is, as ever, a screen of duty between them, and Milla must remember that she will not abandon her ambitions for the love of a human boy.

But he is so _close_ to her now, and that part of her that is still human is telling her to just let it go, let it happen, it was always going to happen sooner or later. Just because they are close doesn’t mean she has to love him…

“Milla, I—” Jude’s low voice breaks the silence, and Milla reflexively touches her finger to his lips.

“Don’t. Don’t say anything,” she says again, smiling in spite of herself. Jude smiles too, his lips stretching against her fingertip, and his hand lifts up to caress her wrist. She drops her hand and lets him pull her closer to him. He is hesitant, very evidently inexperienced in this. Not an unexpected conclusion, but a strangely heartwarming one.

He takes both her hands in his and grips them; Milla thinks she can feel a tremor in them and she knows he’s likely more nervous about this than she.

But it’s still going to happen, she thinks. It’s long overdue, anyhow.

So she looks down into his eyes, watches him gnaw a little on his lower lip. She tilts her mouth toward his, content to let him make the first move.

And when Jude lifts his lips to hers, brushing softly in a featherlight first kiss, Milla can’t doubt anymore that this is a part of it all, a part of the future they will mold out of the schism.

She’s never really kissed, except for a few brief—albeit failed—attempts with Ivar, done out of curiosity, just as the sex had been. And she’s never realized before that just the touch of another’s lips on her own could be so electrifying. It makes her shiver, makes her skin prickle into gooseflesh—this time it’s definitely _not_ from the cold air—and the surge of warm desire rush harder than ever through her blood.

She returns the delicate pressure of Jude’s kiss, noting how soft his mouth is, but she can feel the hard edge of his teeth under his full lips as he kisses her more firmly. His arms slide around her waist, cautiously pulling her against him, and the way she embraces him in return is automatic, as is the way she parts her lips beneath his.

She feels his little gasp, feels his fingers digging into her lower back, the fabric of his gloves soft against her skin, and when they take their first taste of each other, Milla feels the urge to make a sound in her throat for the first time.

Jude’s tongue is brushing against hers now, gently exploring, and she does the same. There is a definite rush of blood to the dark space between her thighs, and Jude’s arms are definitely trembling. But they take their time, finding their synchronization, learning how to set this dance of their mouths in motion.

Finally, Jude pulls back, his lips still close to hers, and brings a hand up to caress her cheek. They pant and gasp, eyes searching, closer than ever before.

Milla can’t help but let out a soft chuckle, running her tongue over her lips, and Jude makes a curious sound in his throat before diving in to kiss her again. This time it’s easier, a little more familiar, deeper and more sensual. The culmination of months of tension between them, of unspoken, unacknowledged wanting.

Time loses itself, inverts and turns inward, trips over itself, rocks back and forth, slams forward and screeches to a halt, and Milla isn’t certain how long it’s been since that first tentative touch. But when their kisses break away again, the gulf between them has both widened and shortened.

“Think you can sleep, now?” Milla murmurs, half-teasing.

Jude’s shoulders shudder in a quiet laugh and he shakes his head. “No. I don’t think so.”

She can guess what his meaning is; it is no longer his fear that would keep him awake tonight, tossing and turning, but his desire for her. And he wants to _be_ with her, to dispel the tautness that even now is hanging heavy and dark in the air between them, albeit sweetened with the promise of impending release.

She is sure that she has guessed correctly—she knows Jude well, after all—and she knows she shares the sentiment. She wants him, too, even as she tries to remind herself, one last time, that this may not be the wisest way to end their journey.

But then, what would be?

“Is this…” Milla hesitates for a moment. “Is this what you want, then?”

She reads all the answer she needs in Jude’s eyes, but still he whispers, “Yes,” against her lips in a husky tone she’s never heard from him before. And it nearly drives her wild. He kisses her again, his tongue probing her mouth, provoking hers into a gentle duel. The tension-turned-to-wanting between them is getting hotter and heavier and the breaking of its chains will be satisfying, she knows.

So when they can’t kiss any longer for loss of breath, Milla’s mouth curves in a devious smile. “You remember Balan said there’s an apartment on the third floor that’s unoccupied? One that the superintendent lets the other residents use for extra guests sometimes?”

Jude’s eyes fly open and they’re so close Milla can see the blush that suddenly suffuses his face. “Y-yeah. But… do you think we’ll be able to, uh… use it?”

He’s suddenly become again that bashful, naïve boy he was upon their first meeting. Milla’s smile widens; even if she can’t let herself love him, she can’t help being fond of him.

“Of course,” she returns lightly, with much more nonchalance than she feels. “When Balan first found us, the others stayed up there while you and I were recovering. Leia showed me. I know how to access it. It’s got enough blankets and pillows there, but not much else. But I think we—I think it will suffice.”

Jude smiles, closes his eyes and draws a huge breath into his lungs. “All right. Lead the way, then.”

She can feel his hand in hers between the material of their gloves, and he stays so close to her as she leads him back inside, down the long, empty corridors, the spyrix lights hard and jarring to Milla’s eyes after staring straight into Jude’s soft dark gaze for so long. Into the elevator, where Jude actually puts his arms around her and hugs her close while the lift makes its ascent. And then down to the end of the hall where a small, bare room awaits them. Milla inputs the code she remembered seeing Leia type in and opens the door, pulling in Jude behind her. When the solid metal door thuds closed, Milla’s heart takes up its heavy beat.

She sees Jude breathing deeply several times, the silhouette of his shoulders rising and falling. He inspects the door until he finds a lock, and this he turns with a satisfying _click_ before heaving in a huge breath and turning to Milla. His eyes are bright with excitement and his mouth twisted in nervousness.

She doesn’t bother looking for a light switch, as the lights of the city and the moon beyond them illuminate the room enough. As they make their quiet way into the main section of the flat, she can see the freckles on Jude’s nose, swathed in blue city night light. It is flashing over him and glinting blue in his eyes, staining his lashes with the cold night.

Milla drops to the pile of plush pillows and blankets in the middle of the floor, unwinding the binding belt-like accessories she wears to support her skimpy clothing, and then messily rewinding them into a clump and tossing them, along with her gloves and footwear, carelessly into a corner.

Jude, on the other hand, is methodical, carefully folding up his overcoat and the long jacket underneath it and standing his boots up straight, balling his socks up and sticking them in a boot, placing his gloves atop the folded coats. Then he turns toward her, grins foolishly, hesitates, and comes to join her, carefully lowering himself to the padded ground beside her.

They stare at each other, both of them eager, both of them shy. The undercurrent between them is dragging them down, down, deeper…

“Are you all right?” Milla asks softly.

Jude nods. “Yeah.” He reaches a tentative hand out to her, and she meets it with her own and their fingers twine together.

Milla pulls Jude closer to her, smiling at his little gasp as he nearly topples upon her. But his arms go around her and she can feel the power in them, the determination of his young body. His mouth finds hers again, ever eager to explore, and the spark is reignited by that joining. Suddenly she can’t get enough of him; he drives her to feel things at such strong, new heights. He responds to her sudden little cry of passion, kissing her harder, leaning his weight into hers, and she lets him, holding him against her.

Jude is leaning over her now, fingers still laced with hers, mouth still ravishing hers. With a playful little growl she turns the tables, pushing him hard so that he flips over onto his back. He gasps and makes a surprised little sound somewhere between a yelp and a laugh. Milla hovers over him, smiling. Jude’s eyes are wide and gleaming as he scrapes his teeth briefly over his lower lip. When Milla leans down to kiss him again, he responds immediately. Her hands reach under his shirt to feel the firm muscles of his abdomen. He squirms, letting out a nervous giggle into her mouth.

Milla arches an eyebrow. “Jude, you are ticklish?”

“N-no, that’s not—” He tries to deny it, but when Milla darts a hand up to tickle beneath his arm, he lets out a little shriek and thrashes.

She can’t help but laugh. “I see…” She flings a leg over him, straddling him, pressing the weight of her upper body against him, her breasts brushing against his chest through the fabric of their garments. Milla can feel Jude swallow hard.

“You’re all right?” She asks him again, and he nods with a breathless laugh, his arms encircling her. Milla brings both hands up to bury her fingers in Jude’s hair. It’s something she’s always wanted to do—his hair looks so soft and fine as silk—but they’ve never been close enough. She’d tried, once, and he was so nervous and flustered that she hadn’t tried again… until now.

Milla can feel Jude’s bare fingers on the skin of her back as she samples the softness of his black locks, rubbing her fingertips against his scalp. He lets out a little growl of satisfaction. Her face is right by his ear and she can’t help but put her lips to the sensitive-looking place right where his jaw meets the underside of his ear. She kisses, her mouth opening to gently taste the salt of his skin.

Jude practically ignites, arching his entire body up, writhing and squirming, his arms clasping tight around her. She kisses again and this time he makes curious little sounds, half-moans and half-breaths of delight. The sound of him and the taste of him and the feel of him are setting her ablaze, and the warmth between her thighs becomes a drenching torrent that threatens to spill over.

There is tight, tingling tension in Milla’s core, half of it painful and the other half a delicious pleasure waiting to be fulfilled. She wants so badly to press her sex to his, to alleviate just the tiniest bit of that desperation. She kisses Jude again, her lips sliding to the side of his neck, then to the sensitive spot behind his earlobe, then down to the junction of neck and shoulder. She bites down on the soft skin and he jumps beneath her and actually moans, his arms holding her even tighter.

Milla sits up, looking down at the inexperienced young man, who in turn stares up at her with eyes glazed with pleasure. She slips her hands under his shirt again, feeling his abdomen again, sliding up to his chest, plucking a tight, tiny nipple, then she gathers the hem of the garment and scrunches it up.

Jude knows her intention and helps her along, squirming as he reaches an arm over behind his head to grab his shirt, arching up to pull the fabric over his head. Before he can try to fold it and set it aside, Milla has grabbed the garment and thrown it carelessly away. She looks at Jude again, realizing that in all the time they’ve known each other, she’s really never seen him even half unclothed… at least, not for more than a few moments at a time.

And now she can really study him, his flat, wiry muscles, the beginning traces of fine, still downy hair in the center of his chest and around his nipples and right below his navel… Her hands glide over his sternum, over his arms, feeling the rippling muscles and the shudder that traverses through Jude’s entire body. He tentatively lifts a hand to touch Milla, too, and she encourages him. His hands are on her waist; she can feel the calluses scraping over her skin, but every edge stings and sparkles in the most agonizing way, and she craves more. His fingers travel up her arms, hands cupping the balls of her shoulders, caressing her clavicle, gently fingering the hollow in her throat. His hands slide down a bit, but he is hesitant to touch her more intimately.

Milla smiles. “You can touch me, Jude,” she assures him, and she sees him purse his lips for a moment before his strong hands come to rest over her breasts. Milla is certain she sees a hotter blush infuse Jude’s face and she gives him a coy glance, the tip of her tongue flicking over her upper lip for a moment. Jude’s eyes widen, showing again his innocence, and he increases the pressure of his hands little by little. Milla’s nipples harden against the touch, pushing through the fabric to jut into Jude’s palms. She hears his breathing grow heavier, matching hers; his thumbs find the taut peaks and glide over them.

She’s so sensitive, all of a sudden, and Milla arches from that contact, feeling the pinwheels of sensation ripple through her, making her hotter and wetter and needier. She reaches for the ties of her own top and pulls them open impatiently, and the scanty garment comes away in Jude’s hands.

He makes another strange little sound, seeing her naked from the waist up, her pink top falling aside without another thought to it.

“You’re so beautiful, Milla,” Jude breathes, his voice husky again with that rich quality that makes Milla’s heart pound and her sex throb. She can’t answer him in words; she can only smile at him. He returns the smile and lifts his hands again, questioningly, wanting to touch her. She nods—it’s all right, of course it’s all right, she craves his touch so badly—and he cups her breasts again with nothing left between them.

His hands are warm, rough from all the fighting he’s done, but gentle. So large and so gentle and so loving. He explores her, his gleaming eyes on her face. He digs his fingers gently into her bosom, rolls her nipples between his fingertips, and she leans down toward him, pushing her breasts toward his face, inviting him to taste.

Jude’s breath is a huff of excitement against her skin. He presses a hot, wet kiss between her breasts, his tongue tasting her, then he leaves slick kisses all the way across to a nipple. He hesitates, panting, then his tongue reaches out to flick against one of the hardened little nubs. Milla whimpers in encouragement, pressing closer to him and he accepts her invitation, closing his mouth over her nipple and sucking and sucking and _sucking_ , hard and then soft and then flicking his tongue over her and swirling it.

All the books in the world could not have prepared her for this. Every touch of his hands and mouth makes Milla more and more yearning and less able to control herself. The fire between her thighs rages unchecked, and when Jude bites down gently on her breast she lets out an unmistakable cry of pleasure, suddenly dropping her hips down so that she’s grinding herself against him and oh _spirits_ , is that what she thinks it is, so hard and hot and pulsing beneath her? She makes a noise she never knew she possessed the capacity to make, and Jude groans around her nipple, sucking hard again, then kissing over to her other breast, opening his mouth as much as he can to try and consume her, like he’s a starving child.

No, not a child, she thinks as she vocalizes her approval in wordless moans. He’s all man now, isn’t he, and he’s going to be with her as a man is with a woman…

Milla bites her lip.

Jude nibbles the tip of her breast this time, too, then tugs gently with his teeth. He suckles hungrily, his hands sliding down to her hips, still nervous and untried, and back to the curve of her buttocks, stroking over the firm muscle there.

When Jude pulls away to breathe, Milla can feel how his lungs are like hers, unable to obey, unable to draw in deep, satisfying breaths. Milla’s breasts are slick with Jude’s saliva and he keeps kissing her, suckling gently, moving from one to the other, nibbling and tasting.

Before it becomes too much for her, Milla pulls herself away and kisses him again, and he is more eager now, a little more sure of his role to play in this act. Milla feels the shivering of his skin as she slips her hands down to the button on Jude’s pants. She sits up again, appraising him.

“Can I touch you?” she asks in a low voice, fingering the black metal button. Jude nods, breathless and flushed, sweat beading on his forehead, making his hair damp.

Milla licks her lips and works the button with deft fingers, then the zipper. Jude seems to be trembling a little and Milla strokes his hips soothingly. Her hand slips into his pants, under the waistband of his boxers, and…

Her eyes fly open, so wide she wonders if they’ll pop out of her head. This is unexpected. True, she’s only been intimate with one man before this, and her font of knowledge is mostly from books, but… She tries to remember what she’s read, and she’s pretty sure that _this_ breaks the ordinary mold. She heats up all over again when she remembers the times she’d examined Jude’s hands, the size and strength of them compared to his petite frame, and she also remembers what she’s heard some women laugh about before: _You know what they say about men with big hands…_

Well it certainly seems to ring true in this case. Milla touches him gently, hampered by the constricting clothing Jude still wears.

“Is it—is it always… this big?” She ventures.

Jude looks up at her, puzzlement showing beneath the nervous arousal. “Y-yeah, I guess. I never really thought about it… oh!” He lets out a soft whimper as her searching hands find the tip of his organ, slipping a finger along the edge of his foreskin to touch intimately.

Jude doesn’t look at her as he admits, “You make my pants uncomfortable,” but she can see the bashful smile on his lips.

She smiles back, withdrawing her hands. “Then they should come off, shouldn’t they?”

Jude’s eyes squeeze closed, his teeth digging into his lower lip as he tries to take control of himself. “Yeah… I guess they should,” he agrees.

So Milla rolls her body off of his. She watches as he, with much grunting, grimacing, and gasping of awkward discomfort, wriggles out of the last of his garments. The city lights make his skin look slick and cool, but she knows he is warm. She wants to feel all his skin against all of hers, with nothing in between them. So she tears at her skirt, unlacing it and discarding it, then peeling away her undergarment, which is more of a nuisance to her now than it’s ever been before.

So the last of their barriers have been divested—physically, that is. Milla regrets that they can’t drop all their mental and emotional walls—at least, _she_ can’t allow herself. If she isn’t careful, she may feel too many things. So she hides the deeper emotions. But she’s not averse to admitting that she’s very attracted to Jude and desires him. As young as he is, she desires him. She can’t lie to herself about that any longer.

She kneels beside him, and he lays back on the blankets, his long eyelashes lowered shyly. She doubts anyone else has ever seen him like this before, unclothed, aroused, vulnerable, all at once. He has wide hips for a male, but just wide enough to be attractive and not unconventional. The muscles of his legs are toned, a dusting of fine, dark hair scattered across them.

And though she feels it might be rude to stare, she can’t help but do so, because her hands did not deceive her. He’s so _big_ , his manhood prodigious in length and girth and heavy with pulsing blood. She never would have thought it of him. But then again, she’d tried very hard, for a very long time, not to think of him at _all_ in that way. And overall, in the long run, she’d not _really_ succeeded.

Especially now.

Jude is so shy, unable to look at her as she roves her gaze over him, but he does not resist when she presses her hand to his cheek to guide his face up so he can see her, too. The raw desire that flares up in his eyes is stark and beautiful, and Milla almost looks away because she can see more than just wanting there, and it’s not good, _definitely_ not good, not _safe_ for either of them.

So she has to kiss him to distract them both. His hand reaches up to clench in her hair, his mouth parting beneath hers to submit to her probing tongue. When her hand finds his erection, he arches up fiercely, a sharp cry welling up in his throat. Milla swallows the sound, her hand wrapped around Jude’s thick length, stroking up and down, moving the smooth, blood-heated skin, thumbing the delicate tip, feeling the dab of moisture that she’s already elicited from him. He makes little choked gasps in his throat, rising up to the jerky, hesitant rhythm of her hand. Milla can feel the wetness welling up from him and sliding over her hand, down her wrist. Her mouth works at his and he tries so hard to keep up with the kisses but her touch distracts him. She bites his lip, making him whimper, before she detaches her lips from his.

Jude’s eyes fly open, his lips parting, puffing in and out slightly with each heavy breath. “Milla, please…” he begs her softly.

“Shh,” she hushes him, pressing a sweet, loving kiss to his lips. Then she straddles his hips again, kneeling over him, letting him look up at her. She smiles when she sees his jaw drop.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he murmurs as his eyes drink their fill of her body completely exposed to him. His hand lifts to stroke the tips of his fingers along her bared thigh. Milla shivers and widens her stance a bit. She wants him to touch her, wants to feel what those strong hands of his can _really_ do.

Jude is still nervous, still inexperienced. He brings his hand—oh _Great_ _Four_ , his hand is _shaking_ —up to the top of her thigh. His eyes ask the unspoken question, and Milla nods. “Go ahead,” she urges, and then decides to take pity on him. She guides his fingers to the damp cleft between her legs.

Milla thinks she can see Jude’s heart nearly pounding through the wall of muscle in his chest. He rotates his wrist, palm up, so he can cup her mound. His middle finger dips between her folds, sampling her wetness. She watches his face; his eyes are on the motions of his hand, and the shadowed hidden space between her legs. The utter arousal in his countenance is, for lack of any better word, beautiful.

Jude’s finger probes deeper, and Milla guides him again, showing him where and how she likes to be touched. She’s so wet and slick and hot and his touches only make her more so. His finger finds the erect nodule between her folds, and then with her help he works it carefully, allowing her to keep her hand over his to help him vary pressure and location. He reaches with two fingers into her aching cavity, biting his lip hard when he feels her slippery depths. Milla wonders if Jude is thinking the same thing she is: That soon, he’ll be inside her for real.

How long, Milla thinks, have we waited? And we didn’t know how to make it happen until now. When it’s almost time to—

No, no, she chides herself. Don’t think of it. Just live in the now. Just be with him for this moment, if never again. Don’t think of tomorrow. Not yet.

Jude’s fingers are nearly dripping with Milla’s wetness when he finally pulls his hand back. His eyes are pleading with hers for—for something, for _what_?

“Jude?” she asks, giving him one last opportunity before they leave rationality far behind. “Are you sure—”

“Yes,” he says, practically cutting her off. His eyes flick down away from hers for a moment. When their gazes meet again, she sees the strength of the resolve in him. “I’m sure. I’ve never been so sure of anything, Milla.”

Now it’s Milla’s turn to avert her gaze. She knows what she is doing—at least, more than he does—but for the first time she feels a bit of her own nervousness about it. But why? Why should she have cause for concern about her performance?

Because it’s Jude. Because she wants to be his goddess for him. She wants to make his awakening all that he may have ever dreamed it to be. Because she _does_ care about him, she cares deeply, even if she can’t even _think_ the word _love_.

Milla lowers herself down to him, gliding her crevice along Jude’s aching length, slicking him with her fluids. He gasps at this new, intimate contact, stifling a whimper. She tries not to appear as clumsy as she feels as she positions herself; he’s just so big that she will have to adjust herself to him. Slowly.

She pretends she doesn’t see Jude try to be inconspicuous as he brings his drenched hand to his mouth for a taste of her, but her body can’t help responding to that erotic visual with another surge of wet warmth. It makes her slicker and more heated and she feels him begin to enter her. He tenses beneath her in agonized anticipation, ceding all control to her. She makes herself go slow, sinking down upon him, feeling him open her up, stretch her nearly to hurting. But it doesn’t hurt; it feels so good, she feels so _full_ , full of his body and his feelings for her and hers for—

No. She can’t finish that thought. It isn’t safe. But she takes him in at last, watching his eyelids flutter and his chest heave as he finally learns what it’s like to be inside a woman. To be inside _her_.

How long have we waited? She wonders again. When she feels Jude’s fingers tug gently at her nipples, she is taken by surprise and she inadvertently clenches around him. Jude throws his head back, exposing his throat, slippery with sweat, and Milla can’t resist leaning down to sink her teeth gently into his skin. She feels Jude throbbing a little inside her and realizes he seems to like being marked by her. So as she slowly starts to move herself along his length, she kisses and nibbles and bites him, leaving light reddish marks on his neck and shoulders and collarbones. He bites his lip as if he’s trying to bite back cries of ecstasy.

“Milla…” he gasps. She moves faster, finding her rhythm, adjusting her body to synchronize with his.

She looks down at the young man beneath her, seeing him again as if for the first time. His hair is damp, his pupils dilated. His skin feels fiery, his strong, youthful body is deliciously flushed and warm.

And he’s so young, she thinks, viewing him as if she’s someone other than herself. He’s so young, so _young_ , his face still more round with boyhood than sharp with the angles of a grown man.

But he _is_ a man, isn’t he? When they first met, perhaps not; he was a boy then, stifled and contained, a little bird trapped in a cage. And she’s seen him become a man since that day. She’s seen him make decisions and learn and grow into a kind and serious young man with unwavering loyalty and iron resolve. Though it took her death for him to emerge as who he is now. This boy, now a man, who will follow the path he has chosen and fight to the last with her.

Yes, he is definitely a man, she thinks with a delicious shiver as she feels him inside her. He lets her take the lead, content to learn from her, but eager to please her. His trembling hands touch her thighs and her breasts with that same mixture of hesitancy and eagerness, and he lifts his hips to match his rhythm to hers, soft sounds of pleasure in his throat.

Oh, yes, this body of his is _definitely_ a man’s. Milla laughs breathlessly, bringing a hand between them to touch where they join, to feel his slick hardness as he slides in and out of her.

When her eyes meet his again, she realizes with a shock that is ethereal, painful, euphoric, that he loves her. _Really_ loves her. In that serious way, the way that books speak of again and again but, as far as she can tell, reality rarely seems to echo. This is no boyish crush, no puppy love. This is real, and he knows it. Young as he is, his life just really starting, he knows. And she knows. Because it’s written in his every move, in each freckle on his face, in the quivering light in his eyes, in his trembling lips, in his warm and loving hands. He tells her this just with a look, that he regrets nothing, that he knows nothing will look the same for him after tonight, and he welcomes that. Nothing can _be_ the same for him after loving Milla Maxwell.

And doesn’t that go both ways? she thinks. He is the one who called her back to herself when she was but a shell of who she’d once been. They’d been through so much together, they’d both longed for one another and not known it, or known how to express it. They’d experienced joy and sadness and parting and reuniting and he had sworn to fight at her side, and she trusted his judgment as she trusted no other human’s.

So how could she even try to pretend that, even as a spirit, even if—no, _when_ —she becomes the next Maxwell, that things will be the same after this night? How can anything look the same for her after loving Jude Mathis?

It hurts to know this. Because they both also know what must come for them after tonight. That their lives, so intertwined, will unravel and untangle and they will have to let go.

She isn’t ready to process these feelings yet, but she knows they are there. They were always there; death and rebirth hadn’t erased them. They were there, just beneath the surface, lurking. They always will be. This human emotion that she will someday be able to name as love… that he has wakened in her.

Her body tightens around his and he turns his face up toward hers, her name spilling from his lips, flowing like prayers. She’d lived thinking herself truly Maxwell and had heard countless prayers in her name, but none of them move her like this, like Jude whispering _Milla, Milla,_ over and over. Loving the way his tongue curls and the sound slips against his teeth. The most beautiful prayer.

She moves over him and he bucks up to her, driving his shaft further into her depths. They both let out cries at the unexpected surge of pleasure it brings them both. Jude’s hands are bolder, moving everywhere he can reach and starting a fire beneath Milla’s skin.

She grabs his wrists in her hands, pinning them above his head as she rises and falls upon him. He submits to her entirely, allowing her to do with him as she pleases. She can’t help but kiss him, leaning down over him and slightly changing the angle of their joining. Her hair falls in a curtain around them, locking them into their new world of _this_ , of the two of them, his body moving inside hers in this dance of lovers.

Her lips find his, and the excitement she feels as his tongue twines around hers makes her shiver. He’s so responsive to her, so receptive to every movement, so ready to reciprocate. She’d never known that it could be like this, that these human sensations of lust and passion could burn her right down to her bones. It is more than just sex; it is them meeting again, heart to heart and soul to soul, blending themselves the one time they can, before they have to part again.

They kiss and kiss, mouths devouring, until they have to tear apart to breathe. And breath is coming quicker now, heavier as their movements get faster and rougher. He is so sweet beneath her, his eyelashes flickering against his cheek.

“Jude…” Milla says, speaking his name with all the feeling she can put into her voice. He opens his eyes and smiles shakily up at her, the warm amber of his irises going dark, _dark_ , nearly black with the force of his passion. She still holds his wrists and he does not contest her dominance; he just rocks his hips up again and again, meeting her as she slides down on him, filling her so deep. His eyes are bright, his face flushed, lips parted and swollen from so many kisses, salty and suckling sweet.

“Milla,” he gasps, his voice so soft that she can barely hear him. “I love you.”

Perhaps it would have surprised her to hear him say such things if she hadn’t already known, if it hadn’t already shown in everything he’s done and said. The trust he’s given her, the depths of his eyes…

Milla feels it building but has little warning of what will happen before the first tiny spasm ripples through her, both electric and fiery, wrapping her in rings of releasing tension. It shudders out of her in minute waves, straining with each circuit, and her body clenches with every burst of delight, her voice echoing it in gasps and soft fierce moans. This, too, had been something she’d read of time and time again and never experienced. The apex, the peak, the last desertion of physical barriers. Something she’s never known until now. With Jude.

Through her hazy, blurred vision, she sees Jude’s eyes widen as he feels her clamp down on him. He tenses, all his muscles going taut as her climax surrounds him in a tight, damp flood of pleasure. And then his own wildness takes him over. He raises himself desperately into her, bucking up and penetrating deep, seeking his own fierce release with her. She continues to move upon him, trying to keep herself as tight as she can for him. His countenance is like a book in itself, his face a myriad of expressions. His features twist in what she thinks for a moment is weeping, there’s so much feeling there. But then he finds what he has sought and comes hard.

She watches him as if in a dream, seeing his eyes roll back in his head and his mouth working in a strangling cry that rises in pitch until it’s almost feminine in its tone. He arches his body up so hard that he lifts them both off the pile of blankets, holding them there, frozen, lingering at the edge of eternity. And Milla can feel him inside her, his rigid member pulsing hard several times, and then the soft, flowing warmth of his essence spurting into her womb. She memorizes the pure ecstasy on his face, saturated with his love for her, and locks the memory away in her heart to hold forever.

Jude gives a last few weak thrusts of his hips as he fully empties himself, and then he collapses beneath her helplessly, boneless and breathless and sated. Milla watches his chest rise and fall, and sees the gleaming of sweat in the city lights. She’s slicked with sweat herself, salty and damp. She tosses her hair back, looking down at Jude. His eyes are closed; he looks utterly spent. She releases her hold on his wrists and he stretches and flexes them. Those pretty eyes of his open slowly and he beams a smile up at her. He runs a hand through his sweaty hair, making the damp locks stick up in spiky clumps.

Milla can see the shuddering in his limbs, rippling all through him as the force of his climax has left him weak and drained. She touches his hand, then his cheek.

“You are trembling,” she observes in a whisper.

Jude holds his hands up to observe them and lets out a weak laugh. “Yeah, I guess I am. But I’m all right. More than all right. Milla… that was—you were—I—”

“Shh.” Her fingertip touches his lips, hushing him. She doesn’t want to have to talk about it. Tomorrow will be soon enough to face the future. She just wants to live in the now, for once. Just for this night.

Jude seems to sense her thoughts and obeys, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her down to lie on top of him again. He tangles his mouth with hers for a moment, then glides his lips across her neck, opening his mouth to taste her skin. Holding her close. She lies there in his arms, letting him hold her as the sweetness of the afterglow descends upon them.

“I love you, Milla,” Jude mumbles into her neck. There is no doubt in his voice; he knows his heart now, and he will not deny it.

Milla wishes she could say the same to him. But she’s not ready to feel that much yet. Perhaps someday soon she will look back and say, yes, I loved him. I always loved him. But not now. It’s too new; there’s too much to lose by loving him. Still, she doesn’t stop her hand from reaching up to tousle his tangled black hair with a tenderness that she can barely believe she has in her.

So she stays there upon him as he clings to her, and she will only speak what she is certain of, when she is certain of it, whenever that day may come. And she knows he loves her so completely that he will never hold that against her.

“I know you do, my dear one,” Milla whispers. “I know.”

 

* * *

 

For this one night they lie together, in each other’s arms as the night blankets their world, then slowly peels away to let the sun burn off the darkness. Before dawn, Milla stirs, and feels Jude in her embrace. They are still naked, skin against heated skin, burrowed beneath a thick blanket, and he has his arms around her, his face pressed against her chest, her hands in his soft hair. She can just barely see him, sleeping babylike against her, and she takes an image of him in her mind like this, another memory to keep always.

The way he lays against her, yielding himself to her… it stirs a wisp of an ancient memory, one that she treasures, one that always fills her with an ethereal warmth and a half-painful yearning deep in her heart… But then Jude begins to stir and she focuses on him.

He squirms a little as he wakes, then lifts his head and smiles at her with a sweet shyness. “Hey,” he murmurs.

“Hey there,” she whispers back, unable to keep from returning the smile. He leans up to kiss her, then blushes and grabs a corner of the blanket to wipe away where he drooled on her breasts.

“Sorry about that,” Jude mumbles. “It happens… sometimes.”

Milla finds it endearing and amusing—after all, she’s had contact with much more— _intimate_ —body fluids of his since last night. “Nothing to apologize for,” she assures him, and pulls him close to her once more. Their lips meet again, their kisses slow and sensual. Milla feels Jude’s arousal begin to swell against her thigh, and despite herself, she responds with her own quiver of desire.

But she forces herself to breathe in deep and sit up. “It’s almost morning.”

Jude looks out the window, his brow wrinkling as he sees the first rays of light creeping up over the horizon, a harbinger preceding the sun. “You’re right. I should probably let you clean up and get ready.” He can’t keep the disappointment from his voice, and she doesn’t bother even trying to tell herself she doesn’t feel the same way. She does. But she nods in agreement.

Jude reluctantly clambers out of the mess of blankets and pillows and stands, first gasping at the shock of cooler air on his naked body, then flushing a little because Milla isn’t even trying to hide her appraisal of him. He manages to find the clothes that were so carelessly discarded the night before and slips them on. Then, his face still heated, he brings Milla her scattered garments as well. She dons them, watching Jude distractedly comb his fingers through his hair before pulling on the rest of his clothes—his coats, gloves, boots. She sits cross-legged on the blankets and he turns to her with an adoring smile that makes her heart leap. He comes and kneels next to her, reaching a hand out to touch her cheek.

“Milla,” Jude says hesitantly. Then she sees him swallow his reservations before he speaks again. “No matter what happens today, or from now on, I’ll… I’ll never forget this. Never. And I meant what I said to you last night. That hasn’t changed. It won’t ever change.”

He doesn’t have to tell her exactly what he means by that. She knows. She remembers his voice, husky with desire, confessing his love for her.

Milla takes Jude’s hand in both of hers, clasping it against her heart, and smiles at him. “Thank you, Jude. Thank you.”

He puts his arms around her and she returns the embrace. Then he kisses her sweetly, his mouth moving over hers with so much more confidence now, taking one last taste of her before pulling back with obvious reluctance. They haven’t spoken it aloud, but they know that once they leave this room, they will no longer hug or kiss or touch as lovers. They have their mission to complete. Nothing must get in the way of that. No emotions must come between them and the destiny they will bring about.

And that destiny won’t let them be together.

Milla reaches up a hand, fixes an errant strand of Jude’s hair with a smile, and he grins at her, a hint of sadness at the corners of his mouth. “I’ll see you downstairs,” he says quietly, and gives her one last loving smile before leaving the room, closing the door behind him.

Milla stays sitting where she is for several minutes, her arms around her knees, and then the restlessness takes over. She gets to her feet, still feeling sticky from the fluids of their joining, and cringes, knowing she should clean up before anyone else finds her. She begins to pace back and forth around the room, images of the night before flying through her mind until she’s weak and dizzy with the memory, butterflies in her stomach, merciless.

She has to let go of these feelings, fast. She never felt like this when she’d experimented with Ivar. But she can’t be surprised that Jude brought them out when she’d thought she was beyond sensing them. Jude’s always made her think about things, feel things.

The sun’s rays touch her face through the window and she finds her feet leading her to look out at the park below.

And she sees him down there, lost in thought, staring out over the city, illuminated by the ascending sun. Her human lover, the boy—no, the young man—with the pure heart and iron will. She will have to bid him farewell today.

Time to repress. Milla breathes in deep and finishes dressing, then hesitates before folding the blankets they used and putting them in the corner. The scent of her body and Jude’s is still on them, but she doesn’t let it bother her. There are other things to concern herself with.

She slips back into Balan’s apartment. Leia stirs a bit as she enters, but Milla waves a hand at her and the younger woman puts her head back down. Milla cleans herself up in the bathroom and then takes a seat on the chair next to the couch on which Leia and Elize are curled up, and she waits for the others to wake. Her thighs still feel shaky and there’s a soreness between her legs and a languid ache in her hips. But it’s not enough to distract her, not _really_. She composes herself, becoming Milla Maxwell again, the woman who will watch over the spirits. And the humans, if only from afar.

By the time the others are awake and ready to go, Milla has herself centered.

“Where’s Jude?” Leia asks. “I have something to tell him.”

Milla simply shrugs. She knows where he is—or at least where he was the last time any of them saw him—but she can’t risk saying or doing anything that would cause immediate suspicion. She can’t afford to let her resolve slip.

“He was in here for a moment earlier,” Elize yawns, rubbing her eyes. “Not too long ago. I think he went outside.”

“Well, then, I suppose we should go to meet him, then.” Rowen remarks.

“Yeah, guess so,” Alvin agrees. “What’s he doing out there anyway?”

“With him, who knows?” Leia shrugs and rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling. “Anyhow, I’m ready to go when you are, Milla.”

Milla nods. They bid farewell to Balan, who tries his hardest to wake up long enough to wish them luck. Then they step outside to see Jude, still waiting where he had stood before when the sun rose and Milla had looked out upon him.

When he catches sight of them, his eyes fix on her. Only on her, and as he approaches, it’s as if only the two of them are there. It’s like he sees no one else. Maybe he doesn’t.

He walks toward them all but she knows he’s coming to _her._

“Sleep well?” he asks her, giving her a playful, conspiratorial little grin, one laced with remnants of his shyness the night before.

Milla’s mouth quirks up at one corner. Oh, he would know, wouldn’t he! He would know how she slept—when she _did_ finally sleep—because he had been there, in her arms, sticky and sated. _He would know!_ But of course, that’s the point of him asking this way, with that little smile, surprisingly impish.

“Yes,” is all she says in reply, but that single word holds as much knowing as his eyes do. His eyes, fixed on her, shining with a silent echo of the adulation he’d professed as he’d held her close against him…

The smile that Jude and Milla exchange then, secret and sweet, something between just the two of them, will be what gives her strength in the hours to come. The words they speak from now on will be that of friends and comrades, but Milla will always be able to recall the sound of his voice when he told her he loves her.

And perhaps, someday soon, when all is said and done and over, she will be able to face what she knows, deep down, that she feels for him.

I think we have found out who we are, now, Milla thinks, as she takes her place at his side, throwing her hand in for the group cheer. As they walk alongside one another, treading the path toward their destiny, she can sense him, his kind strength and his perseverance… and his love.

And he will be beside her until the end.

 

**Author's Note:**

> At last, this is posted! I wrote this fairly early in 2017 and spent months revising, improving, and waiting for AO3 to stop losing my invites!
> 
> How did this come to be? Well... this was originally something I had jotted down as the result of a feverish imagination, after watching much of my husband's playthrough of the game and before starting my own. I found that I shipped Jude and Milla with a passion! I soon noticed all the good smut with this particular pairing was written in a way that their relationship had already been established before the fic took place. I wanted to see one about them getting together (ahem) for the first time that wasn't complete drivel. There wasn't one that I could find. So I rewrote my little sketch to make it more in-depth and fitting with the game's plotline. I don't often share what I write, but decided to do so in this instance, as the [English-speaking] ToX fandom could definitely use a coherent relationship-origin-story with Jude and Milla. And it fits in the scheme of the game! I made sure of that. I think I made it work.
> 
> As shown/stated at the beginning, Michelle Branch's song "Tuesday Morning" was the song that this story was woven around. It's off her 2003 album Hotel Paper and is one of her most underrated songs, in my opinion. Go listen to it!
> 
> Anyway, thanks to LH and Elm, who listen to my fangirling rambles, and to Lillia, who fangirls right back with me at all hours of the day, and to my husband, Ani, though he hasn't read this; he's so much like Jude that he literally provided the majority of Jude's character inspiration in this fic (and others in a similar vein).
> 
> Hope you enjoy!


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